WARNING - SICK AND KIDS HUMOUR FOLLOWING - DON'T READ ON IF YOU ARE EASILLY OFFENDED OR PRONE TO THROWING UP.

Not really a tale as such - but the memory had me in stitches - easilly pleased at my age.

Why we changed from wearing Pudding Basin Helmets - a warning to the "noveau old timers".

Back in the day just before I bought my Everoak Racemaster "Jet" helmet [ open faced ], I had the ubiquitous puddin' basin lid complete with Mk9's.

One day we were riding to a coffee bar out in the sticks [ "The Blinking Owl" ] - I had a terrible head cold and origianally wasn't going out for the ride, but my pals said - "Aw, go on, it will clear your head" - remember that phrase.

I actually had to stop a couple of times to expel the horrible mucus that built up in my nasal passages. Anyway we're bombing along and I'm about third in the pack - no real racing, just fast riding in convoy. This was at night [ as most of our excursions ] and there were no street lights out in the countryside. I caught a glimpse of the Prince of Darkness' best attempts at a headlight flash from my pal behind. Thinking he might be in trouble, or maybe about to overtake I took a look round over my shoulder. At 80 mph the wind rushed up the nostril closest to the oncoming wind collected all the built up mucus and hurtled it out of the other nostril. Had I been wearing a Jet helmet, the gooey mess would have been caught in the helmet itself. Not so with the Puddin Basin - like a heat seeking missile the gob of goo hurtled straight towards my pal Dave [ Norton Dommiracer ].

Chuckling away to myself, I carried on to the Owl, about 2 miles away. 30 minutes later and no sign of Dommie Dave, so we decided to go back to see if he had indeed broken down. Nahh - there was Dave sitting in the hedge where he'd ended up after being temporarily blinded by the goo.

Funny thing, he was convinced that a malicious Owl had crapped in his face.................. me, I felt really clear headed all night long.

Just a footnote - after that incident the "Blinking Owl" caff was always known as the "Crapping Owl"

HAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH

damn thats a good one! i was with my friend on a boat one day; he spits into the wind, i see it coming at me, duck, and it smacks a random guy right in the eye. we convinced him it was sea-spray as he seemed pretty angry

Having re-read this I should call it a wandering story about Robert Dunlop.

OK, It pissin' rain here right now and I'm thoroughly pissed off. I retired from work five days ago and it hasn't stopped raining. Just hope it isn't an omen! Another gentle story about Robert Dunlop. Despite what Wikpedia says Robert started racing on a 50cc Kriedler. In Ireland at the time clubs ran the racing events. There was one Northern Ireland club that flat refused to allow 50s on their race program. Don Carlisle was one of the 50 stalwarts in Northern Ireland kept at them and at them until they finally relented. I got a call from Don one night to say he had talked them into it and he needed a full grid. He added that they were giving us three races. Done deal, I'll be there and call everyone I knew.

The day arrived and it was the usual cram four bikes into Pat's van along with tools and bodies and head north. Aghadowey is right up at the tip of Northern Ireland. It was also one of the crappiest tracks you would ever lay eyes on. Where else would you find a track with a corner named shit house corner? Truthfully named as the ladies and gents were on the outside of the corner. You'd see better turns in an eye hospital! At one race Robert was about 30 yards in front of me and he dropped it on the entry to the corner. He slid, I'd like to say gracefully but that wasn't the case, into the ladies. Fortunately the door was ajar so the impact wasn't too bad. Can't remember if it was occupied or not.

Back to what I was writing. When we got to Aghadowey we were informed that no you're not getting three races. You're getting one race. It was a real pisser to haul 120 miles for one ten lap race around a crap track. Classic racing was just starting and there was a race for single cylinder bikes. I asked if we could enter and was told yes. I tried to get the other guys interested but they all said there was no way they were going out on a track with G50s and Manx Nortons. In the end it was just me, Don and Keiran's brother who actually was his mechanic.

We started at the back of the grid mainly for safetys sake. Most of the racers wouldn't give you the smell off their socks after the flag dropped so we didn't want to become part of the pavement . We were running together until I nearly lost the front end on the fast right hander. Then I was on my own. On one lap I was heading for the chicane which was flat out on a 50. A 50 would get up to around 95 at the chicane. Flick right, flick left short straight, flick left, flick right and up to the hairpin. I was about 100yards from the chicane when I heard something rumbling up behind me. A Manx Norton went by at about 120. He sat up for the chicane and I saw him kiss the front brake with two fingers and knock it down a gear. In the meantime I'm still tucked and trying to pull the slide out of the carb. He slowed enough for me to get on his tail and I followed him through the chicane. Up to the hairpin. Stopping a 105 lb. 50 is a lot easier than stopping a 320 lb. Manx. He sat up to brake and I flew by, took his line and led him into the hairpin. The hairpin was where most of the people gather to watch the races. Out of the hairpin to the left hander and on to shithouse corner. There is no room to pass so he had to sit behind me . It must have pissed him off to be led by a 50 in front of his friends etc. Out of shithouse and on to the main straight. As he flew by me I looked over at him and he at me and then flipped me off!

Back in the pits I went over to have a look at Robert's Kriedler. He wasn't around so I had a look. Kriedler carbs are very close to the ports so I cranked open the throttle to have a look at the ports. I noticed the slide didn't open fully . Curious I tried it a few times and the slide still stuck into the venturi about 3/16". I reckoned the return spring was binding. The 50s were out a few races later. I beat Robert that day. And at the next meet. After I beat him the second time he said that as he was almost a foot shorter than me and weighed about 30 lbs less he should be killing me. I said "You'll figure it out and when you do we won't see you for dust".

A couple of weeks after that was the road race at Carrick. It was the first ROAD race for the 50s and we all were there. It was the usual qualify Saturday, race Sunday. Saturday night is always spent in the pub. It was packed and I found a seat for my wife and I sat on the floor. Robert and a couple of his buddies walked in. Robert spotted me on the floor and charged over and dived on me shouting " You rotten bastard!!! You knew all along and didn't say a word!!". We rolled around the floor wrestling and laughing our heads off.

The next day in the race Robert left us for dead. He won the race easily and he was rarely beaten after that. He was an incredibly fast and brave racer. One hell of a guy and I'm proud to have known him

Hoof this is just the sort of gems that you DON'T get in the history books.

If this was written while rain stopped play, all I can say is - let's pray for more rain.

Whilst on that subject [ weather ] due to the snowfalls here in the UK my flight to Saxony was cancelled, so I too have some time on my hands I wasn't anticipating ! I SHOULD have been whooping it up with our neighbours in the village, wo had promised us a "proper German Christmas". Ah well, next year.

In turn that means you all might be subjected to one more "tale from the day" from me before I lapse into the Christmas spirit - or is that before the Christmas spirit lapses into me

Here it is then - the last one until the New Year - Happy Christmas all..........

Beachcomber’s –Tales from the Day.

“The Reliant Robin Van – Open Air Motoring”

First off here’s a brief reminder about the vehicle at the centre of this tale – the Reliant Robin Van.

This was a vehicle produced in post war [ WW2 ] England in Car, Estate [ !! ] and Van guises as a three wheeler to get round the licence laws of the day to allow motorcyclists to drive these type of vehicles without having to take a car test. They also qualified [ on weight breaks ] for a lower annual road tax fee. It was an effort to get the austere post war economy of Britain going again. Everything was built ultra lightweight to get below the limit – including the thickness of the GRP body.

It was one of THE most unstable vehicles you could ever see on the road – any mild corner taken at 20 mph + would see the thing trip over on it’s side. It was quite common in the day to see folks walk over to right a fallen Robin as if it were nothing out of the ordinary ! Top speed [ ommigod ] of around 70 mph was like 170 plus on a modern Superbike – exciting. On the plus [ ?? ] side road tax was fraction of that for a car and fuel economy was as good as a bike. They offered an alternative to the ubiquitous sidecar outfit.

So there you have it – the Reliant Robin – in this tale, a Van.

So, we’ve all been up to one of our rare visits to the Ace on the North Circular – which in those days was a bit of a dump – what we’d call “a greasy spoon” caff. Primarily a truckers caff during the day and a convenient place for bikers to meet – generally on their way somewhere else !

Now the North Circular [ where the Ace is situated ], as it’s name might suggest was in fact built to take the heavy traffic away from central London and dump it somewhere in the suburbs. “Our” patch was Dagenham / Romford and in those days literally on the edge of the countryside. We much preferred the local rural Caffs, where you could also enjoy a good burn up along uncrowded [ and NON speed restricted ] country roads.

Anyway on this day the night was young and we’d had enough of the posers at the Ace and decided to get off to the Blinking Owl for some real riding.

As the North Circular was still busy with trucks at that time of night we decided to take a more direct route, which was reasonably quiet.

Initially this was an orderly convoy with speeds hovering around the legal limit for those roads – 40 / 60 mph. Then a couple of interlopers joined in and very soon the unspoken gauntlet was thrown down.

Soon speeds rose to 70 - 80mph through what were pretty busy townlets. The section of road was 2 cars wide in each direction, but with no central barrier.

We were approaching a notorious bottleneck where the road narrowed to 1 lane in each direction to take the road under a narrow rail bridge. I can only assume that the two strangers didn’t know the area well – or were very brave……………. We slowed down in anticipation of the narrow road, whilst the faster of the two looked back and gave us the V as he dived into the short tunnel under the bridge.

We heard a screeching sound followed by an enormous crashing – amplified by the tunnel walls. We assumed the worst and all pulled up at the tunnel entrance to see what had happened to matey.

Anyway – what he hadn’t realised was that there were a set of traffic lights the other side of the bridge and a Reliant Robin Van had pulled up, waiting for the lights to change.

Matey [ Matchless CSR ] had gone smack into the back of the Reliant . When we arrived we couldn’t believe our eyes and immediately fell into uncontrollable fits of laughter. There was the van with matey on the van floor – the sides of the van had blown out complete with the impact, and the roof had peeled forward over the front windscreen as if some giant can opener had been at work. The two bemused occupants were still sat there in the front seats, with CSR’s head wedged between them.

Remarkably nobody was seriously injured and even the CSR was bashed into shape to allow him to ride home.

We even got the Robin “roadworthy” courtesy of some lengths of rope. We pulled the roof back into place and peeled the sides back into position and then wrapped the rope around the van to hold them in place – like some enormous parcel.

From that time on, Matchless CSR’s were known as “Robin Killers” up at the Owl